


Aftermath

by BlueBee243



Series: Baby Witchers [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Childhood, Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Childhood Trauma, Ficlet, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Mentioned Vesemir (The Witcher), Suicidal Thoughts, Witcher Training (The Witcher), tiny Witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25025941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueBee243/pseuds/BlueBee243
Summary: Geralt watches the sun break the horizon as he lifts his shirt, angling the dagger up to point at his heart. He shifts his grip on the hilt as he looks at the dew-frosted grass sparkle in the rising sun, and prepares for his last view.Just one movement. One movement and he would never have to walk the Path alone.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: Baby Witchers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812223
Comments: 16
Kudos: 125





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Suicidal thoughts and unsuccessful suicide attempt.
> 
> This is my first Witcher fic (ficlet?), so constructive criticism is welcome!

Geralt sits in his room, perched on the windowsill that overlooks the woods of Kaer Morhen. It was beautiful, but it all felt lost on Geralt. He leans against the glass as he flips the dagger in his hand, looking down at the blade gleaming in the watery morning light.

Geralt would have to go down soon. Soon he’d receive that knock on his door to come down for early morning warm ups and chores before breakfast. A training regime set in place for the life he was to live out on the Path as a Witcher.

Geralt leans his forehead against the glass, and he can already see the older students setting up the courtyards for the day ahead. Training dummies, sword racks, arrows, targets, crossbow bolts. But it all rang hollow.

Geralt was once relieved that he had lived past the Trial of the Grasses, but his world had lost a little color that day when all but one of his friends had died. Eskel had brought it back, but it was only holding it at bay.

That color couldn’t stop the mages from choosing him for the experimental mutagens.

Geralt expected Vesemir to stop it, expected Eskel’s shouts of protests to impact their decision, _anything_ that would save him from the caves. But his fate was sealed.

Geralt was sure he would never stop hearing the echoes of his own screams filling his head. The lonely screams of a child begging for his father. The screams of a friend asking for his brother.

Geralt’s days grew colorless. His food tasted ashen, the love of Eskel growing distant as the thrum of the stares of the other wolf pups and the threat of a future where he was sure to be met with a stoning at every town grew ever more present.

But Geralt didn’t have to walk the Path. He had one option if he could stick with it all the way through.

Geralt watches the sun break the horizon as he lifts his shirt, angling the dagger up to point at his heart. He shifts his grip on the hilt as he looks at the dew-frosted grass sparkle in the rising sun, and prepares for his last view.

Just one movement. One movement and he would never have to walk the Path alone. Everyone wanted to rid themselves of Geralt. Vesemir didn’t protest his almost certain demise under the hands of the mages, didn’t even lift a finger.

His mother never even said goodbye. Never told him that she loved him.

Geralt takes a deep breath, and the door opens.

“Geralt, do you want to—“  
  


Geralt was frozen. How could he have been so oblivious? He knew the sound of Eskel’s footfalls by heart.

He should do it now. Do it before Eskel can stop him. But there’s a thud and suddenly hands wrap around Geralt’s own, his own knuckles a discolored white as he grips the hilt.

“Drop the knife,” Eskel’s voice isn’t commanding, it isn’t harsh. He’s pleading with him. Eskel comes into view of Geralt’s frozen gaze, and the sight of his best friend causes the tears gathering in his eyes to slip, sliding down his face.

“Geralt. We’re only fifteen years old.”

Geralt’s grip loosens, and Eskel takes the knife from him faster than he’s ever seen Eskel move. The knife clatters against the far wall as Eskel tosses it aside and Geralt lets out his first sob, his hands dropping to his lap as Eskel takes Geralt and leans him against his chest. Geralt’s fingers are weak as his hands shake against Eskel’s chest, and he breathes out Eskel’s name. Geralt finds himself being gathered in Eskel’s arms and being sat down on his bed, Geralt’s hands grasping at Eskel’s shirt as sobs wrack his weak body, trembling in Eskel’s arms.

“Shh, shh, Ger _alt_ —“ Eskel chokes out as he rocks Geralt, smoothing down his white hair. They sit like that for a while, Eskel rocking Geralt and Geralt crying until his voice grows hoarse and Eskel’s shirt is truly soaked before Eskel speaks.

“Geralt, why—“

“Because I’m weak,” Geralt pulls back to gasp in air, his body still shaking with his sobs.

“You’re not,” Eskel leans his forehead against Geralt’s. “You’re brave. You’re strong.”

“Because I don’t want to walk the path alone,” Geralt sobs out.

“I want to walk it with you. We can walk it together.” Eskel takes Geralt’s hands and squeezes them, and Geralt’s trembling hands squeeze Eskel’s back with an iron grip.

“T-They mutilated me, I’m a freak, I’m a monster.” Geralt could still barely talk, but his breathing seemed to be calming.

“You’re beautiful,” Eske puts his hand on Geralt’s chest. “And you’re just like me. You will always have a place with me.”

“No one loves me,” Geralt grips Eskel’s hand, holding it to his heart.

“I love you.” Eskel says, and his voice isn’t quiet. It’s proud, it’s sincere, it’s true. “I love you.”

“I love y _ou too—_ “ Geralt sobs as he presses against Eskel, who kisses his temple. “I love you so much. I love you. I’m so _rry,_ it’s _my fault,_ ”

“I love you.” Eskel says, holding Geralt tighter. “I love you. It’s not your fault. Don’t be sorry, _don’t be._ This is not your fault, you’re fifteen. We’re fifteen.” Eskel pulls Geralt back to hold his face. “And I love you. We’ll figure this out, I love you.”

“I love you,” Geralt repeats, laughing through his sobs. “I love you more than dessert night.”

Eskel laughs wetly at that and kisses Geralt. Geralt grasps Eskel’s shoulders, kissing him back desperately.

Geralt could’ve missed this. It scared him so bad, he was going to end it too soon. He was going to deprive Eskel of his best friend, he was going to deprive himself at a chance. A chance for things to go right.

Eskel pulls back, and Geralt couldn’t tell if the tears on his cheeks were his own or Eskel’s, who was wiping Geralt’s face so gently, so lovingly.

“Let’s go talk to Vesemir.” Eskel says softly, brushing the hair from Geralt’s face. Geralt nods, light-headed from the mistake he almost made.

“I’ll get your boots,” Eskel stands, hugging Geralt tightly (which was reciprocated just as fiercely) before fetching his boots by the door. 

Geralt doesn't miss when Eskel picks up the knife on the floor and slips it into the empty sheath on his left hip, and Geralt feels relief wash over him. Eskel returns with the boots, helping Geralt put them on before Geralt stands. Eskel supports Geralt as they head out of the room, leaving the morning sun to rise over the courtyards and the woods in peace.

**Author's Note:**

> edit 9/13/20: ANNA BLUME DREW THIS AMAZING FANART!! PLEASE CHECK IT OUT https://twitter.com/annablumedraws/status/1305319425059454977?s=21


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